


makes me wild

by redpaint



Series: vegas, baby [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Blood, Friends to Lovers, Las Vegas, M/M, Sexual Tension, Summer Break 2019, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 18:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/pseuds/redpaint
Summary: Hungry,that’s what they’re always calling him. And, well, they’re not wrong.





	makes me wild

_Hungry,_ that’s what they’re always calling him. And, well, they’re not wrong.

***

He and Dan had never really spent that much time together, mostly chats in the paddock and a couple lazy lunches back in Monaco, but he’s finding that it doesn’t really matter. Daniel has a way of making him feel like he’s an old friend, pushing along the conversation with a laid-back ease that Charles is trying hard to match.

The run-up to the summer break had been so chaotic that he barely thought about the trip before it began. He had deferred all the planning to Daniel, pleading ignorance about what in Vegas was really worth their time. Dan probably had a team of assistants doing the actual planning, but when Charles sees the car he’s convinced that Dan must have chosen it himself. Flashy is an understatement; the convertible is highlighter yellow and has a roaring engine that announces their approach wherever they go.

_“Lay off that whiskey, and let that cocaine be,”_ Daniel is belting over the stereo. He’s doing his best Johnny Cash, putting on a drawl and occasionally glancing over at Charles in the passenger seat.

Luckily there’s no one else around to hear Dan’s singing but the desert birds. They’ve gotten far enough out of the city that Dan’s driving is getting a little trickier, whipping the car into a U-turn before speeding back along the empty stretch of road, kicking up the dust.

Charles should be appreciating the rugged landscape, the distant mountains, the massive cloudless sky, but instead he’s distracted by the effort it takes to not to look at Dan’s thighs. Black ink curls out from under the hem of his shorts, stretching out over skin that’s turning golden under the Nevada sun. Charles can almost imagine what it would be like to run his tongue over it, taste the salt and the phantom tang of ink, feeling the ropes of muscle under the surface, and he’s close enough; he could just lean down and—

“D’you want to drive back?” Dan says, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind whipping around them.

Charles puts on his best innocent face and shakes his head. “No, no, it’s alright, you can go.”

He puts his feet up on the dash, leans his head out into the breeze, and lets the wind run through his hair as Daniel pushes them to 80, 90, 100 miles per hour. With his eyes closed, there’s nothing to focus on but the familiar sounds of the engine and rushing air, the feeling of the sun hot on his face.

***

Dusk comes out just as the lights of the strip emerge out of the dusty horizon, growing and growing until they swallow the car whole. They slow to a crawl, Daniel stopping for every drunk pedestrian that decides to cross in the middle of the street. “Just passing it forward, you know. Who knows how we’ll end up at the end of the night,” Dan says with a wink. He’s smiling, but Charles just taps his fingers on the door, willing them closer to the hotel. He’s nursing a headache that appeared on the long drive back, thirst and sun exposure, egged on by the lingering effects of his first legal joint and the tinny house music pumped out onto the sidewalk by the garish souvenir shops.

He downs the last warm drops of water from the bottle in the cupholder. Not enough. He groans.

Daniel cuffs him on the shoulder. “Don’t quit on me now, we’re barely getting started!”

Charles gives him a grimace. “I don’t know, I’m not really feeling 100%. Maybe it’s the time change—”

“That’s just Vegas’s way of saying you should be drinking more. Come on, last time I stayed at this place they sent up champagne _gratis._” He hits the final _s_ hard. Charles rolls his eyes, but it’s hard not to find Dan’s enthusiasm infectious.

“Give me an hour for a nap and some Advil, then we’ll see. Maybe.” He likes to think he sounds serious, but Daniel is already pumping his fist in victory. He pulls into the valet a little too fast, just because he can.

***

It feels like he’s being subtly mocked by the slogans that seem to appear everywhere he looks.

On the t-shirts and shot glasses and condom boxes in the gift shops: _What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas._

On the towering LED billboard he spots from the glass elevator up to the 30th floor, advertising an "exclusive gentleman's club": _You know you want to._

On the TV in his room, over the image of a couple wrapped up in fluffy towels and slathered in green mud: _Relax. Unwind. Restore._

What happens in Vegas will go to Belgium, and then to Italy, Singapore, Russia, until it ends up in Abu Dhabi and then it will only be a few months before it will be back in Australia again.

He tries not to think about how Dan’s hands looked on the steering wheel. He tries to grind against the mattress, willing to stomach the guilt if it helps him shake this feeling, but it’s no use. His temples throb. He buries his face into one of the obscenely thick pillows and groans.

***

Their suite is ridiculous, even by Formula 1 standards. It’s bigger than any apartment he has ever lived in, two floors, two bedrooms, a fucking baby grand piano, and a hot tub on the balcony that overlooks the city. They’re high up enough that the sound from the street fades out and the people on the sidewalks flow in one mass.

They’re in the hot tub, the _gratis_ champagne already polished off and the bottle set off to the side. The headache isn’t gone, but the second bottle of wine is dulling it somewhat. Dan had him pick the bottle off the hotel’s ridiculous encyclopedic list, a dry red with a minerality that tastes almost metallic. He can see the dollar signs racking up with each glass, but he puts it out of his mind because hey— he’s relaxing. Unwinding. Restoring, even.

It also helps that Daniel’s face is pink, and he’s laughing even harder, smiling even wider than he usually does. He’s telling Charles long stories about his past trips to Vegas, waving around the wine glass for emphasis. The stories don’t end so much as meld into other stories, almost all of which end up with someone passing out, vomiting, or getting injured. Charles laughs and nods along, pretends like he could imagine himself being that reckless. Dan pauses to take another long sip of wine. One drop stays on his bottom lip, shining scarlet for a moment before Daniel licks it away. Charles wonders if kissing Dan would taste red, or just stupid.

“And this guy said he knew one of the door guys at XS, and at this point we are rolling face, so of course it feels like we time-traveled to the club but by the time we got there we realized that we had lost Steph somewhere along the way and—”

The bowl of the wine glass shatters on the edge of the hot tub, spraying shards of glass across the tiles.

***

He was right, Dan does taste red. The red pushes all other thoughts out of his head until it’s just the fixation on the steady stream of blood that he can suck out of Dan’s palm, so, _so_ much less than he needs but enough to finally quiet the gnawing hungry feeling and the pressure inside his skull. His heart races as he licks over the cut again, and again, and again. Nothing could have prepared him for how much better it feels compared to a refrigerated blood bag, the warmth running over his tongue and spreading out into his fingers and toes. He holds Dan's wrist to steady him, to keep him close—

When Dan yanks his hand back it’s as though he is waking up from a dream, the balcony lights suddenly too bright for his overstimulated system, leaving him confused for a second as to what he really just did. Then he sees Dan pressing a towel into his hand and his stomach drops through the floor. He’s fucked, so completely fucked, and he thinks about running, just charging straight over the broken glass and through the marble-tiled suite, out of the hotel and back into the empty desert. But that the thrill of the blood has left him aching hard in his swim trunks and for some reason he can’t handle the idea of Daniel thinking that he’s both a monster and a pervert, so he stares down at the bottom of the pool and stammers out a, “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, I just, uh, didn’t want you to bleed in the water, you know, health and safety and all that. Is it— are you okay?” He does his best to mumble, hide his teeth, but there’s no way that Daniel didn’t feel the sharp points on his skin.

It takes Daniel a minute to answer. His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he gingerly lifts the towel off his hand. The cut is gone, only the leftover smears of blood on his skin providing an indication as to what happened. Daniel runs a finger over it gently. “It doesn’t— It didn’t hurt. What the hell was that?”

“Oh, uh, it’s just that—”

“Actually, you know what, don’t tell me.” Daniel’s voice is caught in his throat, and he’s avoiding eye contact as though looking at him would make him reckon with what Charles really is. “Whatever kind of fucked up magic spit you have I just— Do it again.”

“What?”

“_Christ_ I’m sick,” Dan says, and cranes his head back to stare up at the massive sky. He takes a breath, then looks back down. His pupils are not the pinpricks of prey; they are wide and hungry, taking Charles in. “I want you to do it again.”

“I can’t, I’ve never really—”

Dan walks the short distance over to Charles’s side of the tub and grazes over his cock with his now uninjured hand. Charles hisses. Dan’s breathing hard, his dick straining against the front of his shorts at about Charles’s eye level. “You want to. You know you do.”

Charles thinks about the years of discipline it took to wean himself down to a few times a year, the long hungry weeks when he would drive fast to nowhere in particular just to keep himself occupied. He tries to keep his mind on it, but he can feel himself losing focus, like he’s already missed his exit and is heading full throttle into the wall. Dan’s right. When he looks up he swears he can see the pulse racing in his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> so is vampirism vore or what
> 
> title from Face the Fire by Boy Harsher
> 
> happy halloween I guess? as always this is a work of fiction. please don't go around sending this to who it's about, thanks!
> 
> tumblr @ redpainterly


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